


Road To Nowhere

by Lothiriel84



Series: Stop Making Sense [1]
Category: The Bunker (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: And we know what we're knowingBut we can't say what we've seen





	Road To Nowhere

Another year, another red circle mark on the calendar. He stared at it, numbly, wondered why he was still there at all – every breath bringing him just a little closer to death, all the while slowly being eaten alive by the pain that lived inside him.

It was at times like this that he wished he had been sentimental enough to keep even one picture, anything that would remind him of what his wife actually looked like. He knew her hair had been a pleasant shade of red, and that she used to dote on dogs; apart from that, he had nothing, the blank emptiness far more painful than actual memories.

(Every time he tried to picture her face now, all he could see was Gertrude, lying on the floor of that blasted museum, exhaling her last breath as she asked him about the sky that she would never get to see. He weighed his gun in his palm, as he had done countless times ever since they had returned from the underworld, then reluctantly put it back. He owed that much to Dave, and also Tom, he guessed.)

A careful knock at the door startled him from the endless circle of misery that was going on and on in his head. For Coke’s sake, why couldn’t those two just take the hint, and leave him alone with his thoughts? He held his breath and kept perfectly still, hoping against hope that whoever it was, he would eventually give up and let him be.

Well, trust Dave to start taking charge of things after an entire century of apathetic docility. Just his luck, he cursed between himself, and made no sign whatsoever to acknowledge the other man’s presence in the room. Dave mercifully refrained from talking, merely placed two steaming mugs onto the nightstand, then gingerly made to sit next to him on the bed – really cautiously, as if fearing to either scare him away, or anger him, most likely.

Tea was good, a small, less exhausted part of his mind informed him, matter-of-factly. He reached for the mug almost on autopilot, breathed in the vaguely tea-scented steam, hoping it would provide him some passable substitute for comfort. Everyone he used to know was dead, and he couldn’t even remember most of them; Gertrude had been right, he had long forgotten how to be a person, and yet he was still hurting, all the time.

He kept staring into the mug long after he’d finished his tea, until Dave gently took it from his hands, placed it onto the floor at their feet. David briefly wondered when everything around them had turned blurry and sort of wet, out of focus; the next thing he knew, he was crying into Dave’s shirt, loathing himself for being such a pathetic mess, and yet finding himself unable to stop.

Dave simply held him through it, his arm a comforting weight around his body, and patiently waited for him to piece himself back together.


End file.
